In Spring
by JHJ Armstrong
Summary: A year in the life.


### In Spring

  
by JHJ Armstrong

Rating: PG  
Content: MSR, V  
Summary: A year in the life.  
Distribution: You want it, you got it. All the usual  
suspects,  
of course.  
Disclaimer: Mr. Carter, I don't think you want 'em anymore.  
I'm taking 'em, and Season 8 can go hang. So there.  
Feedback: Save a starving fullback at piglit1975@aol.com.  
Find this and other works at When Pigs Fly:  
http://copygirl.softballjunkies.com/pigsfly.html  
Notes: To Livia (thanks for the food), Fi and the Token,  
and cofax and M. and ... Virginia. As always, you are the  
perspiration behind my inspiration.

===========================

Summer.

It was a Thursday in July. Breathlessly hot.

Rose petals wilted as they lay on the sidewalk beneath a  
cafe's outdoor table, panting for air, edges wrinkling,  
hoping for a zephyr of relief that would never come.

The world, complaining and congested, rushed in great  
waves from freezer to oven to freezer, as if life might  
vaporize if left outside too long.

A man and a woman were among the hordes, letting the world  
hurry around them. As they walked, their words argued but  
their voices caressed. He slung his suit jacket carelessly  
over a shoulder; she watched his graceful movements with a  
wistful eye.

Her posture was proud, straight and tall, smaller legs  
striding as he loped. She had no trouble keeping up.

On a day when tempers flared within three feet, they were  
within three inches, his hand gently guiding her around  
smelly tourists and squalling children.

She wore a secret smile when he did it.

Waiting for the light, she spied an ice cream cart,  
scratched gray metal sweating almost as much as its  
proprietor, a cherubic man who winked at her and lifted  
his waffle cone filled with creamy cheesecake swirl in  
toast and temptation. She licked her bottom lip, then bit  
it and shook her head ever so slightly in regret and  
self-denial.

Her escort saw the whole operation. But the light turned  
and she stepped briskly off the curb, so he filed it away  
for another day.

---------

Another week and a few more days found them back at the  
same corner. Still hot, ice cream man still there, still  
selling vanilla and chocolate, but now he offered bottled  
water, too.

She bought one, handing over a limp five-dollar bill,  
shaking drops from the clear plastic and holding sixteen  
ounces of cold to her neck while waiting for change. She  
walked to the corner, not noticing that she did so alone.

She missed him a second later, turning around to be  
greeted with a double scoop of the cheesecake swirl. She   
looked up at him, trying to admonish but actually grateful,   
and his eyes twinkled at her in invitation. She laid her   
hand on his and leaned forward, wrapping her lips around   
the mound of sugar, eggs and cream, tongue just grazing the  
side of his index finger. Pulling back slowly, she gave him  
a little-girl-with-pigtails smile and an "mmmmmm" of  
appreciation, then started across the street.

He stared after her, licking sticky rivulets off his own  
fingers, wondering what she would say if he asked to taste   
her.

In summer, she said maybe.

======================

Autumn.

He chased her while they chased monsters. She eluded   
capture.

On a Saturday, they went for a walk.

The path crunched as they strolled. Wind ruffled their   
hair, but it had a chapping bite and none of the summer's   
balm.

The night before, they'd sat together in a dark theater  
and watched people fall in love. She wished it really could  
be that easy, but if wishes were horses they'd have ridden   
off into the sunset long ago.

On the way to the car, his right hand swung next to her  
left, asking to be held. She watched it sway back and forth   
out of the corner of her eye, but the more she thought about   
it, the more intimate it became, and she couldn't make the   
gesture.

Today, they both had their hands in their pockets. He would   
often take one of his out, smoothing back the strands of   
her hair when they got too unruly, or running a path along   
the back of her arm.

She knew he needed to touch, knew he didn't share her  
reservations about tactile connections. She didn't know how   
to tell him his need could be overwhelming.

They sat on a bench, watching leaves make kaleidoscope  
patterns as they fluttered down to faded grass, giving up   
life so that life could continue.

He reached for her. She let him, just let him, and he  
realized it wasn't enough.

He asked her what was wrong. She didn't answer. He pushed.  
She shook her head. It's not you, she said. It's me. Please  
understand. You're asking more of me than I can give.

She said she needed some time, and she walked away. He  
stayed behind and cried as broken bits of foliage fell   
softly upon his grief.

In summer, she'd said maybe. In autumn, she said no.

======================================

Winter.

They stayed partners, though it was somewhat harder to  
remain friends.

She'd never thought innuendo could be frosty.

Her car wouldn't start; she took the bus to work. Once,  
she knew he would have picked her up, warm gaze and hot   
coffee at the ready, even though it was out of his way.   
She didn't know anymore, and half expected a cold shoulder.

Time passed. She found herself watching him, trying  
unsuccessfully to find out, without thawing, how much she'd  
hurt him.

Shivering, she looked up at barren elm trees and refused  
to dwell on might-have-beens.

She took refuge in the lab, in frozen corpses that weren't  
offended by her briskness.

Grey days became black nights. She dreamed in monochrome,  
fighting through swirling blizzards, struggling to reach   
a pinprick of light in the distance that held out a faint   
hope of shelter, of companionship and warmth.

But when she got there, there was nothing -- absolutely  
nothing. She would lose her will to go on then, and the   
maelstrom would swallow her whole.

She'd wake exhausted, sad ... alone. But still on her   
chosen path.

After all, there were parts of her no one else should see,  
and she was sure she liked it that way.

If she took him into her heart, would there still be room  
for her?

If she took him into her heart, it would shatter if she  
lost him. It was not worth it. It simply wasn't.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, said the wise  
men (and Elvis, he would remind her); who was she to argue?

But it is human nature to ask what if. Being human, she did.

It was a Tuesday in Pennsylvania when she had an epiphany.

They'd wrapped up the case, and she was packing for the   
next day's flight. She heard him yell, and yanked open the   
door, grabbing for her gun.

She saw him, snow in his collar, hiding behind a blue Honda,  
hands hastily packing snowballs to hurl back at one of the   
detectives, a short, stocky blond with incredible aim.

He looked at her, and he was smiling, his face illuminated  
with the simple joy of a parking-lot snowball fight. Come   
out and play with me, his eyes asked.

She gave him a tentative smile and closed the door,   
pretending not to notice how his smile faded as she did so.

She snuck out the back window and helped the detective  
cream him.

Later, over steaming cocoa with jumbo marshmallows, they  
talked.

That night she dreamed of the blizzard again, but this  
time, she found the shelter and he stood within. He wrapped   
a blanket around her chilly shoulders and led her to sit   
before the fire.

When she woke, the sun was shining outside her hotel window   
with a beckoning brilliance. She smiled.

He found her outside, making angels, red hair bright against   
new snow. She said she wasn't afraid anymore.

In summer, she'd said maybe. In autumn, she'd said no. In  
winter, she asked if they could try again.

======================================

Spring.

This was her favorite of all the seasons, things growing  
and becoming and leaping.

She was growing, too; becoming a participant in the dance  
he'd started, finding the courage to leap with him, though   
she kept her eyes wide open.

On a Friday, she asked if he had plans for the next evening.  
He said he'd meet her there. He did, and brought her yellow  
roses.

They had spring rolls and a crunchy pork-garlic dish that  
neither of them could pronounce but both decided was very   
good.

Over green tea ice cream, one dish and two spoons, their  
hands touched more than once. She hooked his pinky with   
hers, playful.

Her fortune cookie told her the truth: "One cannot control  
the wind, but one can adjust the sails."

Later, they kissed. It wasn't the first time, but for them  
each time was a rediscovery.

On a Saturday, she stood in her bedroom, contemplating the  
golden man bared before her, and she couldn't help but think  
that perhaps everything would be okay.

Birds sang in the park. The world blinked sleepily, awaking   
for the first time once again.

Cherry trees budded, promise and beauty in pink and white.

In spring, she said yes.

--30--  
==================================  
Did you like it? Drop me a line at piglit1975@aol.com  
Thanks for playing in the sandlot with me. 


End file.
